


Saudade - EmetWolWeek2020 Drabbles

by MiladyAlluca



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: 5.0 spoilers, 5.3 spoilers, Angst, Bittersweet, Drabble Collection, Fluff and Angst, M/M, emetwolweek2020
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:16:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26432524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiladyAlluca/pseuds/MiladyAlluca
Summary: Saudade:A deep, nostalgic, and melancholic longing for something or someone,often accompanied with a denied fact that what one longs for will never come backA collection of bittersweet drabbles of Emet Selch x 14th/WoL stories for a prompt week.Spoilers for 5.0 through 5.3 Shadowbringers Storyline
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Kudos: 4





	1. Day 1 Light | Dark

**Author's Note:**

> These will be my personal drabbles for contributing to emetwolweek2020 on twitter!  
> You can find the prompts and more works through the [Twitter](https://twitter.com/emetwolweek) and using #emetwolweek2020  
> I will also be attempting to make a couple accompanying illustrations to be posted on [my personal art twitter](https://twitter.com/sammi_doodles) if i finish them in time.

**Day 1 Light | Dark  
**

* * *

  
Light spilled between Azem’s fingers as he stared out upon the sunset, reaching out with an elegant hand as though to grasp the burning star in his palm. A gentle breeze blew through Azem’s dark hair as his mouth fell into a contemplative frown.

“Hades...what will become of this star?” His voice was quiet, guarded, small.

Amaurot still stood tall, but there were whispers...frightened murmurs beneath masks and hoods. Debates arose frequently and were not being quelled with satisfaction but mutual discomfort and creeping anxiety.

Emet Selch reached forward to take Azem’s outstretched hand in his own, folding his fingers over dark knuckles and squeezing as he took his companion under his arm. The setting sun’s light made Azem’s dark skin glow in the light, cool shadow reaching against his features as the far reaches behind them became embraced with the encroaching night.

“Do not fret...We will protect them.” 

Azem’s pale blue eyes flashed upon Emet Selch’s amber and softened as he smiled. He nodded, leaning in to press his forehead against Emet Selch’s throat, breathing in deeply.

_“Will we?”_

* * *

A cacophony of chaos and strangled screams filled the air as bursts of light erupted over the farmlands of Holminster Switch. The stragglers’ bodies contorted and stretched as wings broke out of the husks of their backs and wicked white spilled forth from their lips and eyes.

In the bleak forever daylight there was nowhere to hide as sin eaters flew and scurried past, livestock bleating in terror and voices screeching in agony, seeking out aether to sup upon and forget, forget, forget their mortal pains as Light took over. 

But then there he was, running through thicket and brush and bursting through obstacles with clashes of stone, whips of wind, and shimmering light. Emet Selch watched from afar, weighing the would-be hero’s worth in his palm as he stood by and allowed the discord to continue its cruel path it had been raging untempered upon for one hundred years.

The miqo’te with eyes of ice and dark hair pressed on, despite the horrors and the heartbreak and laid low every eater that came upon his party. They were unrelenting, spurred on by the refreshed glow of his aether as he cast spell upon spell, exhausting himself and forcing their path clear.

Emet Selch was prepared to watch the lightwarden flatten the nuisance into a smear of gore and viscera and upon his death would be the dawn of calamity upon calamity and all would go according to plan finally as the hero of another story disappeared into the aether. Or even better still, they would overcome the nightmare and the Light would spill and runneth over through the warrior of light, burying him alive and contorting his aether until he turned the wicked Light upon his comrades. It would be poetic.

Emet Selch almost turned away to dissolve into the rift before it was over. Their struggles and toil bored him when he already knew the outcome.

But then the warden gave out a bloodcurdling scream as it was dissolving into itself, sparkling and glittering beautiful and unholy, haloed by the unrelentingly bright of the sky. Hydaelyn’s Chosen struggled to stand, and reached out his hand.

Maddening.

Emet Selch watched with grim amusement, and then a cold shiver passed over his newly claimed spine of the body he’d taken upon his travels to the First. Surprise, shock, horror. They all fluttered at the edge of his thoughts before he snuffed them into the dark of his memory like a candle flame.

Light began to fade, to drip and glimmer and wash away from the sky as dark shadows poured forth from a hole in the heavens. Even the deepest mist of aether felt changed as darkness overtook the landscape, blanketing the surrounding of Lakeland in unencumbered night.

Looking up to the sky with wide eyes, Emet Selch’s iota of surprise faded quickly as his lips tightened and he leered up at the mocking stars overhead and the glowing disc of a moon that had not been seen for a hundred years. His flesh felt overwhelmed, despite his hold on the newly remodeled mortal skin, and tears sprung to his eyes at the sight for a phantom of memory.

And then looking across the aether and the air and the rift, Emet Selch watched as the Warrior of Light trembled and fell to his knees, staring up at the night sky in shock alongside the companions around him.

For a moment, Emet Selch felt a pang in his chest, a glimpse of the past in color and sensation that he buried back deep in his chest beneath the bone and sinew that was now his.

The miqo’te stared up at the sky as Emet Selch watched over him, cloaked in darkness as a halo of light glimmered dangerously within him. A wayward smile spread over the Architect’s lips and he too disappeared into the dark of the Rift.


	2. Day 2 Ocean | Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rainy encounter cannot suggest where one's heart lies.

**Day 2 Ocean | Rain  
**

* * *

  
  
“Where is your heart, Hades?” 

Azem’s voice was quiet and holding back amusement as his hands covered Emet Selch’s eyes.

With a perturbed sigh, the Architect lifted his hands to gently grasp at long soft fingers and lowered them to his lips, kissing fingertips reverently before pausing, raising a brow Azem could not see.

Squeezing those fingers again, Emet Selch lowered one hand to rest over his heart atop his thick robes. Those delicate fingers grasped at him and tugged, urging him to release and turn round to face his companion.

Azem looked up at him through his mask, a grin on his lips.

“It is here, no?” he asked, tapping Azem’s hand over his chest still. “Or perhaps...here?” Emet Selch suggested, moving his fingertips to Azem’s lips, bringing the man to chuckle warmly.

“My, why would a heart be there?” 

“Hm...because I’d wish for it to be?” 

“That is a very silly wish…” Azem sighed, tilting his head. “But one that I can easily fulfill.”

“Arided…” 

Emet Selch leaned in after a moment to look around them before pressing a soft kiss to those smiling lips.

When they broke apart, Azem chuckled breathlessly through his nose and shuffled his feet, still clinging to Emet Selch’s chest. Their quiet reverie was broken when the familiar voice of Lahabrea broke through the silence, loud enough to be heard down the hall.

When the Speaker burst in upon them, his robes twisting around his ankles in his urgency to meet Emet Selch, Azem laughed upon releasing the Architect’s robes.

“When you’ve enough of this fancy of yours, I have real work that needs doing!” Lahabrea snapped, his distaste evident on his face.

“Yes yes, you may have him for a time,” Azem huffed, crossing his arms and casting a leer upon the Speaker. “But when I come to fetch him, you will release him without quarrel or suffer.”

Emet Selch cast a wry smirk in Azem’s direction as Lahabrea sputtered and turned his fury upon him. Azem had surely bought him an earful for the next several hours...but he’d also provided an escape...Emet Selch wondered if he might be a bit too smitten to think of the deal as fair.  
  


* * *

  
  
Another day in the Crystarium after the newly appointed Warrior of Darkness had returned the night to the realm of Lakeland. Another day of ants toiling about in their tunnels and on their paths, as far as Emet Selch could be concerned with.

But he’d taken notice when the rift leaper had stolen away from his apartment in the Pendants to take a stroll through the city limits. It was an overcast day and a sheer mist had begun to sprinkle down, enough to deter plenty of passerbyers and usher them under the glittering glass domes above much of the city.

Quinnen did not seem to want for company or mind, his footfalls muffed by the sound of the rain and his destination seemingly unmarked. Emet Selch followed silently and unseen as Quinnen took the steps of a lookout tower two at a time, his heels clicking on the metal. So he did have a haven in mind.

Reaching the top, Quinnen paused and leaned against the railing, ears lowering and tail quiet at the back of his legs. The damp had settled into the shoulders of his coat and stuck his hair to his face, a mess really that frustrated Emet Selch the longer he watched as the miqo’te made no move to brush his own hair away from where it stuck almost to the corners of his lips and covered his eyes.

How bothersome.

Stepping onto the metal platform, Emet Selch was only a little satisfied by the momentary strike of shock that startled upon the miqo’te’s features as he turned to face him. Pale blue eyes were wide and then narrowed in distrust.

“Now now, what is with the skepticism, hero?” his voice dragged on the title, like a snake smiling to show its fangs. “Can I not enjoy a stroll about the town the same as you?”

“I doubt you’ve come only to stretch your legs…”

Emet Selch smirked.

“Your shadow seems to be missing this afternoon,” he noted, changing the subject.

Quinnen’s eyes widened a moment, and he looked past the ascian as though expecting Sainte to be standing dutifully behind him. But they were still alone, for better or for worse.

“He is not my keeper, nor I his,” he shrugged.

“Ahh, but isn’t that a lie.” Emet Selch said smugly, enjoying the way Quinnen’s features twisted into annoyance. 

But Quinnen pursed his lips and simply looked away, intending on ignoring him. The dismissal crawled under Emet Selch’s skin and made his lips quiver in distaste. And still, the other man’s face was mostly obscured by his wet hair…

Stepping closer, Emet Selch didn’t spare a moment to enjoy the miqo’te’s perturbed expression as he suddenly appeared at his shoulder, reaching out a gloved hand to brush dark bangs away from those pale blue eyes framed in dark lashes. With a hiss, Quinnen’s hand shot up to latch at Emet Selch’s wrist, trying to hold him back.

Emet Selch stared down into icy blues calm and amused, not moving his hand, his knuckles ghosting against Quinnen’s cheek. 

“I couldn’t stand to stare at this mop of unruly mess a moment longer,” Emet Selch finally sighed, ignoring the grip on his wrist and continuing to finish his movement as his fingers attempted to tuck the long tresses behind where a hume might have their ears...and watching with bemused defeat when the wet hair slipped back into place.

“Why were you staring in the first place?” Quinnen demanded, soft voice feigning strength as he lowered his tone.

Emet Selch shook off his grip and gestured loosely out towards the far off landscape beyond the Crystarium gates.

“Curiosity.” 

An honest answer.

Another glare.

Disbelief, of course.

“What? Am I not allowed to be interested in the goings ons of my new friends?” the ascian’s lips curled upwards cruelly at the term.

Quinnen looked ready to retort but thought better of it, clenching his fists at his sides. He did seem to be the more thoughtfully conscientious one of the bunch, after all.

“Friends don’t appear suddenly like a stalker,” he finally noted, giving the ascian a side eyed glance. 

Emet Selch placed a hand over his heart and mock bowed.

“Forgive me, if I had known you were so easily frightened, Warrior of Darkness, I’d have expressed my greeting much sooner...” 

Quinnen’s eyes softened into something bordering annoyance and he shook his head tiredly.

“I’d ask how long you were following me, but I suspect I would not like the answer.”

“I am an open book, hero, I’ll tell you anything if you just ask.”

The smirk on Emet Selch’s lips widened when Quinnen gave him a tiring leer.

“How can you expect me to trust anything you say?”

“I gave you my word.”

A roll of thunder passed in the distance and Quinnen looked out to seek it. Emet Selch continued to watch him instead. An unspoken understanding that his word wasn’t good enough weighed between them.

“You wound me,” Emet Selch spoke up, mock sadness in his tone. “All I’ve offered just to be spurned by my new comrades. Why, it’s as though you’re wishing for me to retract my alliance and play the part you’ve already assigned me.”

Quinnen glared in distaste. 

In the gloomy, misty light of the morning, his features partially obscured by wet hair and a glower that might have sent weaker men to step back abashedly, with the unseen shimmer of Light filling his insides and staining his soul, he was somehow beautiful.

“Prove your word is worth something, and I will listen to you.” Quinnen shrugged, stepping back and shaking his head free of the ascian’s touch.

Emet Selch smirked. “And how do I do that?”

Quinnen flashed a dry, almost pained smile at the man and shrugged again. “If your heart is in the right place, you’ll figure it out.”

The Architect felt a twitch in his eye as he turned away in his own annoyance.

“It’s a promise, my dear hero,” Emet Selch called over his shoulder as he waved his hand in departure.

It was later decided that the scions would make their way to the Rak'tika Greatwood.  
  


* * *

  
“Azem,” Emet Selch’s voice was heavy as he reached out hesitantly, trepidation making his heart sick.

Azem’s mask was in place as he refused to meet his gaze.

“Arided…” 

“Where is your heart, Hades?” Azem spat, finally looking up with glassy eyes full of fury.

Emet Selch staggered back, his fingers curling inward.

“You cannot do this, I beg of you,” he continued, reaching out trembling hands to meet the one once offered to him. “There must be another way…” 

“There is none.” Emet Selch murmured, looking upon the way Azem’s shoulders threatened to shake. “This will save everyone, He will save us...” He drew the other closer, wrapping another arm around Arided’s shoulders. “My heart is with you, as always.”

Azem froze and pushed him away, looking up at him frantically.

_“No...it isn’t.”_


	3. Day 3 I knew you once upon a time | Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why bother getting to know a shard when you only want the people you remember from once upon a time?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hitting burnout fast so no art today...this was also edited to smithereens so it barely if even ties to the theme anymore...  
> I was really excited for this prompt day but I dropped the ball pretty hard. Oh well.

**Day 3 I knew you once upon a time | Kiss**

* * *

  
  
There had been genuine gratitude in Quinnen’s eyes when Emet Selch simply plucked Y’shtola’s body from the lifestream like an afterthought. Of course his appreciative gestures had been interrupted in all of their concern for her state as she blinked blearily back into corporeal existence. 

But it was perhaps a start.

They stayed in Fanow to give everyone time to recover.

It mattered little to Emet Selch, but he couldn’t help but admit he held some anxiousness, wishing to find the warrior of darkness alone...but it seemed his shadow was quite aware of the ascian’s lazy but curious looks and had taken a protective stance at Quinnen’s elbow. A faithful, loyal mongrel if there ever was one to be had, Emet Selch could admit.

He found an opportunity when the ever so helpful scions decided to offer their services to help out around the viis village. Quinnen set off alone, somehow, and Emet Selch simply followed. There were a few stray eaters or beasts that barred his path, but Quinnen dealt with them swiftly, his cane held tightly and securely in his hands.

It was not until his task was done and they found themselves rather far south of the village that Quinnen finally glanced over his shoulder warily.

“I know you are there, Emet Selch.”

Appearing and stepping foot on the lush grass, the ascian sighed as the humid jungle air fell around him and instantly warmed his skin.

“You called, hero?”

Quinnen’s pale eyes narrowed, but soon his face gave pause and then bloomed into a smile. Emet Selch wondered for a moment what it could possibly be for, and then recalled saving his friend. Ah, so it’s repayment is it. Somehow he ignored the skipped beat of his heart in his chest at the sight.

“I wanted to thank you...properly, for saving Y’shtola.”

“It was honestly nothing to me,” Emet Selch returned dryly, lips stiff as though he were now on guard against the kind look on Quinnen’s face.

“All the more so, you didn’t have to help us but you did,” the miqo’te insisted, his hand hovering in the air and then resting over his heart.

The familiar sight sent a pang through Emet Selch’s throat, causing him to wince as he swallowed. His hands felt clammy beneath the gloves, but it could have been the humidity.

Quinnen merely smiled at him and then shrugged, his ears wiggling in an oddly pleasing to watch way, before he retrieved the herbs he was sent to procure and made to walk past the ascian to return.

“Wait.” 

They both paused, looking at one another wide eyed, unsuspecting of the interruption.

“Yes?” Quinnen ventured.

They were nearly shoulder to shoulder.

Emet Selch’s golden gaze lingered on Quinnen’s icy blues for too long, before he finally teared his stare away to venture down to his full lips, and further still to the hint of bare neck above his garments. There was a lingering bruise just to the edge of his throat, surely left behind by his partner. A brazen display but not apparently uncommon amongst their company, were he to be displaying it.

And somewhere deep beneath it all, the boiling and bubbling light that licked and surged at his aether and soul.

Eyes narrowing, Emet Selch stamped out the fury beginning to lick the flames in his gut and twisted his lips into a smirk.

“You’d do best to watch for yourself, hero,” Emet Selch warned. “There is a storm on the rise.”

As the ascian turned to fade away, he was stopped by the foreign feel of a tug on his sleeve. His expression crumbled as he turned to look back in masked shock, hidden behind an impassive facade. 

“Emet Selch…” Quinnen spoke up, his brows knit together carefully as he watched the man’s face. “You should call me Quinnen, it’s my name, not hero.”

A million things spilled into Emet Selch’s thoughts, reasons and complaints and vindications against the warrior of darkness’s request. What was a play with actors that used their real names? What right did some shard have to make demands of him? What right did a mere shard of something greater have to a name?

But none of the fury and heartache escaped his lips. Only a tight lipped smirk and raised brow greeted the miqo’te in return.

“Quinnen, then.” 

He nodded, shrugging his arm out of Quinnen’s gentle grip and stepped back. 

Striding through the rift felt like falling backwards as the shadows embraced him and Emet Selch felt the sensation of his gloved hands coming up to his face to drag and grasp at his features. Fury hot and boiling threatened like bile in the back of his throat and it took several moments for icy clarity to finally settle over him like a shawl while he remained in that inky darkness.

Quinnen.

He looked forward to the resurgence of light that would upheave against that shard’s insides and stain the soul. The frothing of Light and imbalance of aether that would surely threaten to tear the warrior of darkness apart...he was going to look forward to the way that kind expression would crumble and contort and he would not regret it in the least.

Quinnen.

Emet Selch could not or would not wonder why his eyes and throat burned with effort as he looked forward. His heart yearned for the past, those kind smiles and warm touches and halcyon days of Amaurot. He would have them yet.

And he would break a thousand shards into pieces to return there.


End file.
